


Stranger at the Feast

by LokisScribe



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Inspired By Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokisScribe/pseuds/LokisScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Loki, Thor's birthday feast is one of the most tedious nights of the year. Forced to sit and watch his brother be fawned over, the only distraction available to him is the food, which is rarely exciting but always delicious. But this year, something - or rather, someone - has managed to surprise him.</p><p>Inspired by a Tumblr prompt - "I remembered in Norse mythology that he has a really huge appetite. I wish someone would write a story of you, the reader, and Loki having dinner which gradually turns sexy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger at the Feast

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr prompt - "I remembered in Norse mythology that he has a really huge appetite. I wish someone would write a story of you, the reader, and Loki having dinner which gradually turns sexy." 
> 
> I put my own spin on it - for one, it didn't end up being second person about the reader, because I'm terrible at second person. XD I also had entirely too much fun describing food. If you like the fic, come find me on Tumblr at lokis-scribe.tumblr.com.

The birthday feast for the crown prince of Asgard never failed to be one of the largest and most excessive parties in a kingdom that took every excuse to celebrate. The kitchens were working at capacity for nearly a week beforehand to prepare all of the food that would be served, and an almost unbroken line of carts stretched out one of the back gates for a whole day, bringing wine and ale and mead and all manner of other libations. Cooks, butlers, serving girls, cupbearers, porters, tray-carriers, singers, dancers, jugglers, and a long list of other minor but absolutely necessary retainers were brought in from all over the kingdom to serve at the feast. The year previous, the birthday feast had been a more subdued affair, thanks to an unpleasant although fortunately rarely fatal plague that had swept over the palace and nearby towns. Thor himself had barely been able to stay awake for the entire party, lounging propped up on cushions with a scantily clad serving girl feeding him every bite. This year, though, Odin seemed determined to make up for last year’s perceived lack.

As the prince’s younger brother, Loki of course was not only required to attend, but to at least feign a decent amount of excitement. His mother had also told him in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to just send an illusory copy - as he had done two years ago. If it had been anyone but her, he would have just shrugged off the order and done it anyway, but Frigga was one of the only people who would know for certain if he tried it. She was the one who’d taught him that useful little trick, after all. So this year, as he had so many times before, Loki ventured into the markets to scrounge up a suitable gift, coming back with a massive stein made of dense ironwood, carved with the figures of naked women - something he was sure his brother would appreciate. He sent it away with a servant to be appropriately wrapped and placed with the other gifts, and whiled away the few hours till the feast dreaming up and discarding half a dozen escape plans. But all too soon, the time came, with no hope of avoiding it, and with a wave of his hand and whispered string of words he changed his simple everyday garb for more formal attire, and set off towards the grand hall. At least the food itself would be worth it.

Among the young warriors of Asgard, Volstagg would generally be the first to be mentioned in any discussion or joke about the most prodigious appetites in the kingdom. But Volstagg’s name would almost always be followed by the quiet acknowledgment that there was one other who’d been known to outdo him. It was surprising to most, considering his lean physique, but over the course of a feast Loki had been known to eat nearly twice as much as the red-bearded warrior. But other than the sheer amount eaten, the similarities went no further. Where Volstagg would devour haunches of lamb and platters of root vegetables with a fierce, almost ravenous pace, Loki would take his time. Each bite was savoured, thought over, and carefully considered before it was swallowed. Each dish was fully appreciated. Bite by bite, he would work his way through each and every plate placed before him. Where Volstagg often seemed to enjoy eating simply for eating’s sake, Loki made it a point to notice the complexity of flavours and the work that went into each dish. It was the same attention to detail that made him such a skilled sorcerer, just as Volstagg’s passion for food came from the same source as his passion for a well-fought battle. 

Tonight would be no different, Loki was sure. He arrived at the great hall quietly, settling himself into his seat at the high table just in time to watch his brother’s ceremonial entrance with a sardonic grin. Thor ever-so-humbly milked the crowd for applause and laughter, spreading his arms wide and twirling that thrice-damned hammer of his as he strode down the length of the hall to the place set for him in the very centre of the long table on the dais, with Sif and the Warriors Three in their places of honour around him. Loki was seated farther down the table to the left, but it was by his own request and he minded it not a bit, for no sooner was his brother seated than the usual entourage of barely-dressed socialites surrounded him. One sat on the arm of his chair, two at his feet, one he pulled into his lap with a loud shout of laughter. Loki could only roll his eyes and let out a sigh of exasperation. Someday Thor would have to settle, for the good of the kingdom if nothing else, but until then he seemed determined to fuck his way through half the women in the kingdom. 

Fortunately, Loki was soon distracted from the painfully embarrassing sight of what passed for his brother’s flirting by the arrival of the first course, a long trencher of mushroom and leek soup, the creamy broth studded with chunks of bacon. Loki set to the task at hand with a will, dutifully noting the onions and garlic cooked into the broth, and mentally categorising the various spices he could taste. Later, he would have a long conversation with the head chef about the recipes, to test the accuracy of his palate. He was rarely wrong, but occasionally one of the cooks was able to surprise him. When that happened, he usually rewarded them lavishly for being able to bring him something new. 

After the trenchers of soup were empty, the next course followed, and the next, and the next. Whole fish roasted in their skin were served with a wine and lemon sauce and sauteed kale. The ever present lamb was served alongside thinly sliced and fried potatoes with a vinegar and tomato puree. An entire roasted swan was presented to Thor, with smaller roast geese and chicken for the rest of the guests, along with a baked pie containing at least four different varieties of squash. On and on the meal went, until most of the guests were barely eating a bite or two of each dish before waving it away. Loki methodically worked his way through the entirety of each plate with his usual detached enjoyment. Each plate was like a new spell or potion, albeit relatively easy ones. Identify all the correct components and ratios and you could master it. 

After several hours, the entrees began to shift towards sweeter fare, arriving firmly in the realm of desserts with the presentation of a massive layered cake to Thor, who promptly attempted to cut it with Mjolnir, resulting in an entirely predictable mess. Two of Thor’s hangers-on were only too happy to lick the bits of icing and cake off of both the hammer and Thor’s clothes and skin. By this point, Loki had consumed just enough of the sweet, heady mead he preferred that he felt a stir of arousal at the sight of one of the girls dragging her tongue down the handle of the hammer. Not that he bore any interest whatsoever in the shallow, insipid girls his brother surrounded himself with, but perhaps he would seek out some suitable company after the feast ended. 

His musing was interrupted by one of the servers placing before him a dessert that, to his surprise and delight, he didn’t immediately recognise. It bore more than a passing resemblance to pie, or perhaps cake, but was made of some sort of dense white substance with swirls of what he guessed were chocolate… a custard, perhaps? He cut off the tip of the slice with the side of his fork and lifted it to his lips, intensely curious to find out what it might be. As he bit down, the flavours that burst on his tongue were… unique, intriguing, different, and utterly delicious. Sweet and creamy, yes, but with an almost sharp undercurrent. Goat cheese was the closest thing he could compare it to, but it was definitely not that. He had no idea even what to call it, and that simple fact delighted him more than he could say. He waved the server over and whispered a quiet command in the man’s ear, requesting that he fetch whoever was responsible for cooking this so that he could question them - and likely reward them as well. The server bowed and slipped away to do as he was told. 

A few minutes later, the head chef approached Loki from one of the side doors, standing across the table from him and wringing his hands with a nervousness Loki had not often seen the man display.

"Your Highness, ah, my lord, sir… you asked for the person responsible for that dessert?" He gestured to the slice still half-eaten on the plate in front of Loki.

"I did," Loki answered, an edge of impatience creeping into his voice. He had little tolerance for equivocating at the best of times, and none at all when his curiosity was driving him as hard as it was now. "I take it that is not you?"

"No, my lord, it’s… " The chef cleared his throat and shook his head ruefully, then beckoned towards the door. "You will see. Here, Gemma." 

The girl - Gemma, he supposed her name must be - slipped out from the hallway behind the door and came to stand next to the chef, one hand clasping the opposite elbow in a nervous, defensive stance. Loki blinked in surprise and shock, for the girl was decidedly not Asgardian in birth. If he did not know better, he’d swear she was from Midgard, but surely not. Unless… 

"Who are you, girl?" he asked sternly.

"Begging your pardon, sir, my name is Gemma. I’m, well, I was from New Orleans. On Earth - that is, on Midgard - "

She was cut off by the head chef’s interjection. “She was brought back by one of the patrols, my lord, along with half a dozen others. They stumbled on the patrol, and.. well, you know your father’s orders.”

Loki did indeed. Any mortal who saw one of the Asgardian patrols - sent out a few times each year to maintain the safety of the nine realms - was to be taken and brought back to Asgard, to keep the rest of Midgard ignorant to the truth of their existence. The mortals usually found places as servants, or fought the inevitable and wasted away in the dungeons. Loki rarely ever even noticed them, which made Gemma’s presence in front of him, and the reason behind it, all the more unusual. 

He watched her for a long moment, noticing with mild interest that his gaze seemed to make her uncomfortable - she shifted her weight from foot to foot, and a flush rose in her cheeks - before speaking again.

"Well… Gemma of Midgard. Tell me about this… whatever-it-is you’ve served your prince." He kept his voice even and cold, giving no hint of whether he approved of the dish or not. Let her think he disliked it - she’d be all the more passionate in its defence, and that’s what he wanted to see.

Sure enough, she took a step forward and spoke quickly. “That’s a family recipe, sir! I used to make it with my mother, and my grandmother before her. It’s cheesecake, sir, best in Louisiana, ask anyone. The chocolate swirl was my addition - Gramma used to use caramel.” She closed her mouth abruptly, as if biting off a tendency to ramble. 

"Cheesecake…" Loki turned the word over in his mouth. It was an appropriate description for the dish. The flavour he’d been unable to identify he could now place as one of the soft, sweet cheeses often used as spread for toast. It paired remarkably well with the crumbly crust and dark hint of chocolate. He took another bite and let the pleasure of the flavour show on his face, and was rewarded by seeing a shy but proud smile overcome the nervousness on the girl’s face. "Well, Gemma, you’ve done something no mortal woman has ever managed to do. You’ve surprised me. This cheesecake of yours… I have never tasted its like." He patted the seat beside him. "Come, sit. You must tell me the entire recipe." 

She obeyed quickly, as of course she would, having been trained to serve in the royal household. She perched on the chair next to him as if she would jump up and flee at any moment, so he did his best to smile reassuringly in an effort to get her to relax - her memory would be sharper if she was not unduly stressed. But he needn’t have feared. With the ease of long practice, she began reciting the ingredients and steps needed to make her cheesecake, and he in turn committed them to memory. As she finished, he brought another bite of the wonderful dessert to his lips, and noticed as he did so something intriguing in an entirely separate way. The girl’s eyes followed his fork to his mouth and watched him place it delicately between his lips, and the flush in her cheeks deepened beyond mere nervousness. She even licked her lips once, so quickly he was certain she was barely even conscious of doing it. But the spark of arousal in her eyes was something he was familiar enough with to know at first glance. 

He lifted another bite on his fork, but paused with it halfway to his mouth and offered it to her. Demurely, she leaned forward and drew it off the fork with her teeth, eyes lighting up in enjoyment at the taste. The piece was almost gone now, but there was enough left for what he had in mind. He cut the remaining piece in half and picked up one half, holding it out to her with a smirk that overtly dared her to take it, and she did not disappoint. Instead of using her teeth, this time she wrapped her lips around his fingers just beyond the piece of cheesecake and drew them back slowly, taking the cake from him. He even felt her tongue sweep over his fingertips as she withdrew, and he laughed softly, pleased at her daring. A new confidence was showing in her eyes, rising hand in hand with lust. Before he could even suggest it, she had picked up the last piece of cheesecake herself, and held it out to him. Now he truly was delighted with this Midgardian girl, this Gemma, and rather than smirk he showed her his true smile, an expression all too foreign on his lips. 

He took her wrist gently in his hand and drew her out of her seat and into his lap. Only once her lush curves were settled against him did he bend his head down to take the cheesecake from her. As she had done, he wrapped his lips around her fingers, but he was far from shy with his tongue. He twirled it around her captive fingertips, sucking lightly as he ensured that every last crumb of cake was gone. Her gasp and soft moan of pleasure were their own reward, and when he finally released her hand it was only so that he could tilt her head towards him and claim her lips in a searing kiss. Her tongue fought with his as she refused to let him dominate the kiss easily at first, which only made him purr and press harder into her mouth. Never breaking contact, she shifted in his lap till she could straddle him, knees settling into the cushions on either side of his hips. He could feel the heat of her even through leather pants, and felt his cock twitch in its confines in response. Gemma clearly felt it too, and began to slowly move on top of him, rocking her hips against his with definite purpose, moaning eagerly into his mouth. She was a firebrand, there was no doubting that, and he found that quite suddenly he needed to have her naked and writhing under him.

It was times like these that he found himself happiest for his skill with magic. He broke the kiss long enough to mutter the three words that would spirit them out of the hall and into his private quarters, and had reclaimed her lips before she could even whimper in dismay at the loss. Four more quick words, his lips moving against hers, whisked away her clothing - his was mostly illusory to begin with and required only the relaxing of his mental control to vanish - and they were both naked on the black silk sheets of his bed, his back against the headboard, her legs still straddling his hips. Gemma broke the kiss then, to gasp in mingled astonishment and fear at the sudden change. He quickly stroked a hand down her cheek and took her chin in his.

"Shhhh pet, be calm. I merely took a shortcut. Would you rather I have taken you there on the banquet table in front of all the court?" 

To his utter surprise and delight, the fear vanished from her eyes to be replaced by a wicked smirk that almost rivalled his own. She quirked an eyebrow at him and didn’t say anything, but he could read the answer clear as day in her eyes. With a laugh, he caught her around the waist and pulled her chest flush with his, revelling in the feel of her soft breasts against him, and swept his tongue over the shell of her ear before whispering in it. “Perhaps next time, pet… but first I’d have you all to myself.” 

She moaned at this and began to shift her hips against him. His hands found the soft, ample curves of her ass and lifted her so she could reach down between them and find his cock, holding it just long enough for her to sink down onto it with a desperate moan. To his shock, he almost lost control for the briefest of moments, finding himself needing to take a few deep breaths to hold back from his release. Fortunately, she remained still for a long moment, adjusting to the way his cock filled her so completely. But before he could urge her to, she began to move. Just slight movements at first, twitches of her hips that drew him out of her a bare inch before sliding back down and taking him completely again. 

He settled his hands on her hips and let her move at her own pace for now, drinking in the sight of her in his lap, dark hair falling in wild curls, the ribbon that had bound it before lost somewhere in the heat of their earlier kiss. Her skin was darker than most Asgardians, although nowhere near so dark as Heimdall. His knowledge of Midgardian geography was far too vague to place her region of birth, but all he cared about at the moment was that the dark copper of her shoulders was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and that the dusky pink tips of her nipples were begging for attention, which he was all too happy to give them. Fingers first, then lips and tongue, drawing low moans and whimpers from her throat as she rode his cock. 

Her movements began to grow more frantic. Her legs trembled each time she lifted herself off him, till only the tip of his cock was still inside her, and each time she sank back on him he could feel the walls of her cunt clench around him. She was nearing her own release, and as her movements started to become more and more erratic, he took a firmer grasp on her hips and began to help her move, lifting her up and pulling her back down with more force than she’d managed on her own, at the same time rocking his hips up to meet her. It took half a dozen thrusts before she threw her head back, back arching as she came hard and long, mouth open in a silent cry, gasping for air. Three more thrusts into that hot, wet heat and he found his own release inside her. They collapsed sideways onto the bed, legs still entangled, and fought for breath and presence of mind. 

When she could finally speak again, she turned her head and met his gaze and smiled - a slow, languorous, satisfied smile that settled right into his male pride and earned her a smile in return. Slowly, they shifted and rearranged themselves until she could settle her head on his chest, one arm thrown across him, the other curled under a pillow. He tugged a blanket over them and let himself relax more than he had in quite some time. Once again this mere Midgardian girl surprised him to no end as she simply closed her eyes and began to drift off to sleep, rather than attempt to engage him in the inane pillow talk many women had in the past. He matched the rhythm of his breath to hers, and let himself settle into sleep as well, musing distantly on what he was fast coming to believe were his misguided ideas about the mortals of Midgard.


End file.
